The Broken Kingdoms (32 page)

“I believe the common term is spy, Lady Oree.”

That hadn’t been what I’d meant, but it distracted me. “Spy? You?”

He uttered a soft, humorless laugh. “The secret to being an effective spy, Lady Oree, is to believe in your role and never step out of character.” He shrugged. “You may not like me for it, but I did what I could to keep you and your friends alive.”

My hands tightened on the sheets as I thought of Madding. “You didn’t do a very good job of it.”

“I did an excellent job of it, all things considered, but blame me for your lover’s death if it makes you feel better.” His tone said he didn’t care whether I did or not. “When you have time to think about it a little, you’ll realize Dateh would have killed him, anyhow.”

None of this made sense. I pushed back the covers and tried to get up. I was still weak; no amount of magical healing could fix that. But I was stronger than I had been, a clear sign of improvement. It took me two tries to stand, but when I did, I did not sway. As quickly as I could, I changed out of the nightgown and into the clothes he’d given me. A blouse and an elegantly long skirt, much more my usual style than the shapeless Light clothing. They fit perfectly, even the shoes. There was also a sling for my arm, which eased the lingering pain greatly once I worked out how to put it on.

“Ready?” he asked, then took my arm before I had a chance to answer. “Come, then.”

We left the room and walked through long, curving corridors, and I could see all of it. The graceful walls, the arched ceiling, the mirror-smooth floor. As we mounted a set of shallow, wide stairs, I slowed, figuring out by trial and error how to gauge height using just my eyes and not a walking stick. Once I mastered the technique, I found that I didn’t need Hado’s hand on my arm to guide me. Eventually I shook him off entirely, reveling in the novelty of making my way unassisted. All my life I had heard arcane terms like depth perception and panorama, yet never fully understood. Now I felt like a seeing person—or how I had always imagined they must feel. I could see everything, except for the man-shaped shadow that was Hado at my side and the occasional shadows of other people passing by, most of them moving briskly and not speaking. I stared at them shamelessly, even when the shadows turned their heads to stare back.

Then a woman passed close to us. I got a good look at her forehead and stopped in my tracks.

An Arameri blood sigil.

Not the same as Serymn’s—this had a different shape, its meaning a mystery to me. The servants of the Arameri were rumored to be Arameri themselves, just more distantly related. All marked, though, in some esoteric way that only other family members might understand.

Hado paused as well. “What is it?”

Compelled by a growing suspicion, I turned away from him and went to one of the walls, touching the green patch there. It was rough under my fingers, scratchy and hard. I leaned close, sniffed. The scent was faint but unmistakably familiar: the sweet living wood of the World Tree.

I was in Sky. The Arameri’s magical palace. This was Sky.

Hado came up behind me, but this time he said nothing. Just let me absorb the truth. And at last, I did understand. The Arameri had been watching the New Lights, perhaps because of Serymn’s involvement, or perhaps realizing that they were the most likely of the heretic groups to pose a threat to the Order of Itempas. I’d wondered about Hado’s odd way of talking—like a nobleman. Like a man who’d spent his whole life surrounded by power. Was he Arameri himself? He had no mark, but maybe it was removable.

Hado had infiltrated the group on the Arameri’s behalf. He must have warned them that the Lights were more dangerous than they seemed. But then—

I turned to Hado. “Serymn,” I said. “Is she a spy, too?”

“No,” said Hado. “She’s a traitor. If you can call anyone in this family that.” He shrugged. “Remaking society is something of a tradition with Arameri. When they succeed, they get to rule. When they fail, they get death. As Serymn will learn soon.”

“And Dateh? What is he? Her unwitting pawn?”

“Dead, I hope. Arameri troops began attacking the House of the Risen Sun last night.”

I gasped. He smiled.

“Your escape gave me the opportunity I’d been waiting for, Lady. Though my role as Master of Initiates allowed me access to the Lights’ inner circle, I could not communicate beyond the House of the Risen Sun easily without rousing suspicion. Once Serymn turned out nearly the entire complement of Lights to search for you, I was able to get word to certain friends, who made sure the information reached the right ears.” He paused. “The Lights were right about one thing: the gods have ample cause to be angry with mortalkind, and the deaths of their kin have done little to endear us to them. The Arameri understand this and so have taken steps to control the situation.”

My hand on the Tree’s bark began to tremble. I had never realized the Tree grew through the palace, integrated with its very substance. At the roots, its bark was rougher, with crevices deeper than the length of my hand. This bark, high on the Tree’s trunk, was fine-lined, almost smooth. I stroked it absently, seeking comfort.

“Lord Arameri,” I said. T’vril Arameri, head of the family that ruled the world. “Is that who you’re taking me to see?”

“Yes.”

I had walked among gods, wielded the magic they’d given my ancestors. I had held them in my arms, watched their blood coat my hands, feared them and been feared by them in turn. What was one mortal man to all that?

“All right, then.” I turned back to Hado, who offered me his arm. I walked past him without taking it, which caused him to shake his head and sigh. Then he caught up with me, and together we continued through the shining white corridors.

T’VRIL ARAMERI WAS A VERY BUSY MAN. As we walked the long hallway toward the imposing set of doors that led to his audience chamber, they opened several times to admit or release brisk-walking servants and courtiers. Most of these carried scrolls or whole stacks thereof; a few wore long sharp shapes that I assumed were swords or spears; still more were very well dressed, their foreheads bearing the marks of Arameri. No one lingered in the corridor to chat, though some spoke while on the move. I heard Senmite flavored with exotic accents: Narshes, Min, Veln, Mencheyev, others I did not recognize.

A busy man, who valued useful people. Something to keep in mind if I hoped to enlist his aid.

At the doors, we paused while Hado announced us to the two women who stood there. High Northers, I guessed by the fact that both were shorter than average and by their telltale straight hair, which hung long enough that I could see its sway. They did not appear to be guards at first glance—no weapons that I could see, though they could have had something small or close to their bodies—but something in the set of their shoulders let me know that was exactly what they were. They were not Arameri, or even Amn. Were they here, then, to guard the lord from his own family? Or was their presence emblematic of something else?

One of the women went inside to announce us. A moment later, a knot of other people emerged and filed past us. They stared at me with open curiosity. They looked at Hado, too, I noticed, especially the two fullbloods who emerged together and immediately fell to whispering at each other. I glanced at Hado, who seemed not even to see them. I wished I dared touch his face, because there was a pleased air about him that I wasn’t sure how to interpret.

The guard emerged from the chamber and, without a word, held the door open for us. I followed Hado inside.

The audience chamber was open and airy. Two enormous windows, each many paces in width and twice Shiny’s height, dominated the walls on either side of the door. As we walked, the sounds of our footsteps echoed from high overhead. I was too nervous to look up. The room’s sole piece of furniture, a great blocklike chair, sat at the farthest point from the door, atop a tiered dais. And though I could not see the chair’s occupant, I could hear him, writing something on a piece of paper. The scratching of his pen sounded very loud in the room’s vast silence.

I could see his blood sigil, too, a stranger mark than anything I’d seen yet: a half-moon, downturned, bracketed on either side by glimmering chevrons.

We waited, silent, while he finished whatever he was doing. When the lord set his pen down, Hado abruptly dropped to one knee, his head bowed low. Quickly I followed suit.

After a moment, Lord T’vril said, “You’ll both be pleased to know, I think, that the House of the Risen Sun is no more. Its threat has been removed.”

I blinked in surprise. The Lord Arameri’s voice was soft, low-pitched and almost musical—though the words he spoke were anything but. I wanted very much to ask what removed meant, but I suspected that would be a very foolish thing to do.

“What of Serymn?” asked Hado. “If I may ask.”

“She’s being brought here. Her husband has not yet been captured, but the scriveners tell me it’s only a matter of time. We aren’t the only ones seeking him, after all.”

I wondered at first, then realized—of course he would have informed the city’s godlings. I cleared my throat, unsure of how to pose a question without offending this most powerful of men.

“You may speak, Eru Shoth.”

I faltered a moment, realizing this had been another clue I’d missed—Hado’s gesture of using Maroneh honorifics. It was the sort of thing one did in dealing with folk of foreign lands, to be diplomatic. An Arameri habit.

I took a deep breath. “What about the godlings being held captive by the New Lights, ah, Lord Arameri? Have they been rescued?”

“Several bodies have been found, both in the city where the Lights dumped them and at the House. The local godlings are dealing with the remains.”

Bodies. I forgot myself and stared at the man in gape-mouthed shock. More than the four I knew of? Dateh had been busy. “Which ones?” In my mind, I heard the answer to this question, too: Paitya. Kitr. Dump. Lil.

Madding.

“I haven’t been given names as yet. Though I’ve been informed that the one who called himself Madding was among them. I believe he was important to you; I’m very sorry.” He sounded sincere, if distant.

I lowered my eyes and muttered something.

T’vril Arameri then crossed his legs and steepled his fingers, or so I guessed from his movements. “But this leaves me with a dilemma, Eru Shoth: what to do with you. On the one hand, you’ve done a great service to the world by helping to expose the New Lights’ activities. On the other, you are a weapon—and it is foolish in the extreme to leave a weapon lying about where anyone can pick it up and use it.”

I lowered my head again, dropping lower than I had before, until my forehead pressed against the cold, glowing floor. I had heard this was the way to show penitence before nobles, and penitent was exactly how I felt. Bodies. How many of those dead, desecrated godlings had been poisoned by my blood, rather than Dateh’s?

“Then again,” said the Lord Arameri, “my family has long known the value of dangerous weapons.”

Against the floor, my forehead wrinkled in confusion. What?

“The gods know now that demons still exist,” said Hado, through my shock. He sounded carefully neutral. “This isn’t something you’ll be able to hide.”

“And we will give them a demon,” said the Lord Arameri. “The very one responsible for murdering their kin. That should satisfy them—leaving you, Eru Shoth, for us.”

I pushed myself up slowly, trembling. “I… don’t understand.” But I did, gods help me. I did.

The Lord Arameri rose, an outline against the pale glow of the room. As he walked down the steps of the dais, I saw that he was a slender man, very tall in the way of Amn, wearing a long, heavy mantle. Both it and his loose-curled hair, the latter tied at the tip, trailed along the steps behind him as he came to me.

“If there’s one lesson the past has taught us, it is that we mortals exist at the bottom of a short and pitiless hierarchy,” he said, still in that warm, almost-kind voice. “Above us are the godlings, and above those, the gods—and they do not like us, Eru Shoth.”

“With reason,” drawled Hado.

The Lord Arameri glanced at him, and to my surprise seemed to take no offense from this. “With reason. Nevertheless, we would be fools not to seek some means of protecting ourselves.” He gestured away, I think toward the windows and the blackened sun beyond. “The art of scrivening was born from such an effort, initiated long ago by my forebears, though it has proven too limited to do humanity much good against gods. You, however, have been far more effective.”

“You want to use me as the Lights did,” I said, my voice shaking. “You want me to kill gods for you.”

“Only if they force us to,” the Arameri said. Then, to my greater shock, he knelt in front of me.

“It will not be slavery,” he said, and his voice was gentle. Kind. “That time of our history is done. We will pay you as we do any of the scriveners or soldiers who fight for us. Provide you housing, protection. All we ask is that you give some of your blood to us—and that you allow our scriveners to place a mark upon your body. I will not lie to you about this mark’s purpose, Eru Shoth: it is a leash. Through it we will know whenever your blood has been shed in sufficient quantity to be a danger. We will know your location in the event of another kidnapping, or if you attempt to flee. And with this mark, we will be able to kill you if necessary—quickly, painlessly, and thoroughly, from any distance. Your body will turn to ash so that no one else will be able to use its… unique properties.” He sighed, his voice full of compassion. “It will not be slavery, but neither will you be wholly free. The choice is yours.”

I was so tired. So very tired of all of this. “Choice?” I asked. My voice sounded dull to my own ears. “Life on a leash or death? That’s your choice?”

“I’m being generous even to offer, Eru Shoth.” He reached up then, put a hand on my shoulder. I thought he meant to be reassuring. “I could easily force you to do as I please.”

Like the New Lights did, I considered saying, but there was no need for that. He knew precisely what a hellish bargain he’d offered me. The Arameri got what they wanted either way; if I chose death, they would take what blood they could from my body and store it against future need. And if I lived… I almost laughed as it occurred to me. They would want me to have children, wouldn’t they? Perhaps the Shoths would become a shadow of the Arameri: privileged, protected, our specialness permanently marked upon our bodies. Never again to live a normal life.